Jerry
by Olive Drab
Summary: More wounded, nothing new there. But Hawkeye's got problems of his own, and what's so special about this guy Jerry?
1. Chapter 1

Jerry 

The gentle tones of Mozart's "Concerto for Clarinet and Orchestra in A" wafted through the somewhat pungent air, and Charles Emerson Winchester III breathed in the sound as if savouring the fumes of a fine cognac. His fingers twitched slightly as he followed the intricate ebb and flow of the music and he closed his eyes, attempting to shut out the incessant twittering of his tentmates.

"I'm gonna kill Klinger when he gets back from R&R," announced Hawkeye Pierce as he sat on his cot, attempting to put on his boot without jarring his heavily bandaged right foot.

"Come on, Hawk," said BJ Hunnicut, who had heard this promise several times in the last few hours. "It's only a sprain after all, and it's not as if it was deliberate. My guess is that Klinger knocked the mail tray off the desk with his bag as he went out – it's unlucky for you that you were the one to come in next and fall over it. It could have been worse." He grinned. "It could have been me, for instance."

"Your sympathy underwhelms me," said Hawkeye.

"You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." BJ put down his book. "Ready for lunch?"

"Almost. Talk about getting a quart into a pint jar." Hawkeye gingerly guided his swollen foot into the boot and laced it loosely.

"_Attention all personnel – incoming wounded! Ambulances in the compound!"_

BJ reached the door in a couple of long strides and was gone. Hawkeye stood up carefully, took a few painful, halting steps and teetered. As he thrust out a hand to balance himself, a noise like a kingsize zipper drowned out the sound of the approaching vehicles.

"Pierce, you clumsy oaf! Watch what you're doing!" Charles snatched the record from the gramophone player and tilted it to catch the light. "Ruined," he moaned.

Hawkeye was now leaning on the doorframe and biting his lip, having turned his ankle over again. "Charles, I'm sorry," he said. "I lost my balance. Hey, it's only a record - I'll get you a new one."

"Only a record?" repeated Charles incredulously. "It's _Mozart_, you barbarian!"

Colonel Potter's gruff voice reached them from the compound. "Pierce, Winchester – get your butts out here pronto!"

Charles pushed past Hawkeye, hissing "_Mozart_!" as he went. Hawkeye followed much more slowly. Potter watched his Chief Surgeon approach the half dozen or so wounded men lying on litters in the compound, and he frowned.

"How's the ankle Pierce? You're moving about as well as a mule on an icy millpond."

"To be honest, Colonel, it feels like there's ground glass in my joint. If I hadn't seen the x-rays with my own eyes, I'd swear it was broken."

"I'll take another look at it later. In the meantime, we have a few damaged bodies out here that need tending to."

"I'm on it." Hawkeye bent down next to one of the litters, failed to find a comfortable crouching or kneeling position, and opted to sit in the dust next to the wounded man. The soldier was a big man in his mid-thirties, wearing sergeant's stripes on his arm. He was conscious but clearly in pain, wincing as the wound beneath his field dressing was probed.

"Shoulder wound here," Hawkeye said. "Doesn't look too bad….." He stopped in surprise as the man on the ground grabbed his wrist with his good hand.

"It's nothing," the sergeant whispered through clenched teeth. "You gotta see to Jerry over there; he's hurt real bad."

"I'll get right to him," said Hawkeye calmly, trying to free himself from the man's grip. "Let me just get you something for the pain…"

"No!" The soldier began to fight him, trying to sit up. "You gotta see to Jerry! He can't die, not Jerry – he deserves to live more than anyone!"

His waving arm connected with Hawkeye's outstretched right leg, sending a wave of fresh pain through the doctor's ankle. He cried out, and the wounded man was instantly contrite.

"Did I hurt you, Doc? Gee, I'm sorry. It's just….."

"Listen to me," snarled Hawkeye, pushing the man back down with more force than was necessary and checking his tag, "Sergeant Clark. Every man who comes through here deserves to live, and every man who comes through here gets the very best care to try and make sure he does just that. Now lie there, shut the hell up and let me do my job!"

Heads were turning their way at the sound of Hawkeye's shout of pain, and his uncharacteristically harsh outburst.

"Everything okay there, Hawk?" asked BJ, concern on his face.

Hawkeye hauled himself to his feet, white-faced. "Yeah, fine, he said curtly. This guy can wait." He hobbled across to the thin, dark haired young man Clark had called Jerry. "This guy can't. Serious abdominal wounds, heavy bleeding – I'll take this one. Get him inside."

**A/N: So what's different about Jerry – bet you can't guess! Find out in Chapter Two…..**


	2. Chapter 2

**Jerry - Chapter Two**

"You know, I haven't seen a display of colours like that since I dropped my palette while I was putting the finishes touches to a masterpiece called Plums, Lemons and a Lime," said Colonel Potter as he wrapped a new bandage tightly round Hawkeye's ankle.

Hawkeye was in a much better frame of mind now that he had seen the x-rays again and satisfied himself that there was no fracture. He wiggled his toes experimentally

"It's what all the best feet are wearing," he said. "This month Korea, next month the catwalks of Paris."

Potter smiled. "Well, you don't need me to tell you that time is the best healer for this kind of injury. My expert medical advice is to rest it as much as you can and things should start to improve pretty soon. You want some painkillers, or maybe a cane?"

"Nah," said Hawkeye, getting down off the table and testing the damaged foot carefully. "Painkillers make me woozy. And a cane will just mean I have to watch BJ doing bad Chaplin impressions. That new strapping's much more comfortable. Thanks, Colonel."

"Anytime. One more thing, Pierce," said the Colonel quietly as Hawkeye headed for the door. "I don't have to tell you how unacceptable that scene in the compound this morning was. Remember, no matter how much you're hurting, these boys are hurting more."

Hawkeye nodded miserably. The incident had been playing on his mind. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I acted like a jerk. I'll drop by and see Sergeant Clark on my way out."

"Good idea, son."

-----------------------------------------

Entering the post-op ward, Hawkeye unhooked the clipboard from the bed of Private J Hoffman, who had inadvertently been the cause of the episode in the compound. He was still unconscious, and Hawkeye had removed several pieces of shrapnel from the young man's belly, but he was confident he'd got them all and that Hoffman would make a full recovery. The private would play no further part in the war, though. _Be thankful for small mercies, Hoffman_, thought Hawkeye as he finished checking over the notes and replaced the clipboard. In the next bed was Sergeant Clark, his left shoulder heavily bandaged and his arm in a sling. He watched Hawkeye pull over a stool between the two beds and sit down heavily with a grunt.

"How does that shoulder feel?" asked Hawkeye.

"It's okay, I guess. Dr Hunnicutt says there's some deep muscle damage, and I might not get all the movement back, so it looks like I'm going home. The army won't need a soldier who can't toss a grenade or hold a rifle butt to his shoulder."

Hawkeye nodded sympathetically. "Listen, Clark – I wanted to apologise for what happened earlier. My bedside manner doesn't usually include bodily assault and verbal abuse, but you caught me at a bad time on a bad day. I'm sorry. Both bark and bite are back under control."

Clark grinned. "Hey, don't mention it. It's me who should be apologising to you, Doc. I saw the limp on you when you walked in just now, and the way you dropped onto that stool. That leg of yours is really giving you grief, and I didn't help any, did I? I'm sorry. I was just so scared for Jerry."

Clark stuck out his hand, introducing himself as "Big Sam Clark, from the Big Apple," and Hawkeye shook it and gave his name in exchange. Despite their first meeting, he was beginning to like this man with the lopsided smile and easygoing manner.

"Well, now we've opened and closed the inaugural meeting of the Mutual Apologies and Acceptances Society, I have a question for you, Sam" said Hawkeye. "This kid Jerry – what did you mean when you said he deserves to live more than anyone?"

"Jerry's kind of my pet project, Doc," answered Sam, frowning slightly. "I promised myself I would get him through the war safe."

"You're very protective of him," said Hawkeye. "Are you two related or something?"

The big sergeant fidgeted, scratching his cheek and looking away, then met Hawkeye's eyes again. "Jerry doesn't really like people to know," he said. "But I guess I can trust you. I mean, you're a doctor – you'll respect his confidentiality and all that, won't you?"

"Yeah, sure I will," said Hawkeye. "If you're sure you want to tell me."

"Okay," Sam nodded. "But you might not thank me afterwards." He made himself more comfortable in the bed, and Hawkeye leaned forward slightly on his stool to hear better.

"Jerry's name is Jerzy, and he was a Polish Jew from Warsaw. One day in late '42, he was coming home from the store when he saw his mother, father and older sister being dragged out of their house and driven away in trucks by German soldiers, along with all their neighbours. He was nine years old."

Hawkeye stared at the man in mute horror. He was reminded abruptly of a winter's day in Crabapple Cove when the ice was slick on the roads and his old convertible had only half-made the right turn from Main Street onto Forrest Avenue. Mercifully, there had been no traffic coming the other way, but as he was carried smoothly and helplessly towards the delivery truck parked outside Johnston's Hardware Store, Hawkeye had had time in the moment before impact – a moment that had seemed to last an eternity – to think, quite clearly and calmly, "This is going to hurt". And it had. He felt exactly the same way now. He had set things in motion with his questions; he knew what was coming next, and he could do nothing to stop it. And it was going to hurt.

"Jerzy ran back to the store owner who was a friend of the family, and he was hidden – passed from family to family, contact to contact, all of them risking their lives for this kid, until finally they were able to get him to an old friend of his mother's who lived in New York," Sam went on, his gaze never leaving Hawkeye's face. "He never saw his parents or his sister again. He learned over the next few years that his entire family had died at Treblinka. Every single relative; cousins, grandparents, everyone. Jerzy lost everyone during the war, Doc. Not just his family but his classmates, his neighbours, his friends and several of the people who'd helped him to get out of the country, including that store owner."

"Oh my God," whispered Hawkeye.

Sam looked over at the young man asleep in the next bed. "He was adopted by the family who took him in and Jerzy, whose surname I can't even come close to pronouncing, became Jerry Hoffman, US citizen. Six months after that, the Hoffmans died in a fire in the shop they owned one day while Jerry was at school, and he was sent to an orphanage – not that far from where I live now, in fact. So much for a new start and a happy ending."

If he hadn't been sitting, Hawkeye thought his legs might have given out beneath him. The everyday noises of the ward seemed far, far away. He swallowed hard and rubbed a hand across his face. Seeing his distress, Sam reached out a sympathetic hand and touched his arm.

"Take it easy, Doc," he said gently. "Hear me out. As soon as Jerry was old enough, he joined the army, and that's where we first met. I guess he was searching for some sort of family, some sense of belonging. Just after we came over here, I found that Jerry and I had a kind of common ground. You see, I was one of the first troops into Auschwitz in '45. I saw things there you couldn't begin to imagine, or want to." Sam's friendly face darkened and his eyes became distant as he looked away for a moment, blinking hard. "Anyway, Jerry heard me talking about it with some of the guys one night, and later he told me his story. He sobbed on my shoulder – the first and last time he's cried since Poland, he said - and he made me promise not to tell anyone else in our unit about his past. Well, I promised, but I also swore to myself that night that I'd get him through this alive. His is a life worth saving."

Hawkeye was relived that his voice sounded a lot steadier than he felt, in spite of the sudden tightness in his throat. "But why the big secret?" he said. "He's done nothing to be ashamed of. He survived against all the odds."

Sam smiled bleakly. "Jerry's a great kid, Doc. He's fun to be with, plays a mean hand of poker, listens to the guys' problems. He's one of the most popular men I know. He'd hate it if people thought they had to be careful what they say around him. The men might stop taking their gripes to him because they seem tiny compared to what he's had to deal with. Some of them might even avoid him altogether. He's not ashamed; he's scared. Scared that he could never be one of the guys if all they see is a victim, a freak survivor of the worst atrocity in history. Jerry's lost his faith in just about every way, Doc. He needs to know that his buddies will stick with him."

Hawkeye's mind was in turmoil as he looked again at the thin, pale face in the bed beside him. _He looks just like any other kid that comes through here_, he thought, and then realised with a shock that he was already seeing the young man differently, just as Sam had said. As if feeling his gaze, Jerry Hoffman stirred and opened bleary eyes as dark as his hair.

"I'm still here," he whispered, his voice carrying a slight accent.

"You betcha, Jerry," beamed Sam. "And you'll be just fine, right Doc?"

Trying to pull his thoughts together, Hawkeye bent over the bed to examine Jerry's dressing and then took his wrist to check the pulse. "Yep, I think so. You may have to rest the bellydancing routine for a few weeks, but give it time. A couple more days here, a little while resting up in Tokyo and then you'll be ho-home."

The hesitation was tiny, but it was there, and Jerry caught it straightaway. The young man turned his dark gaze onto Sam.

"You told him," he said accusingly.

Hawkeye froze. _What do I say now? How do I handle this?_

He handled it by not handling it. "Well," he said, straightening up. "I've got a ton of paperwork, and I'm sure you two have some catching up to do. I'll check in on you both later this evening."

Outside, he leaned back against the wall with his head tilted upwards, drinking in huge gulps of cool air. Again and again the image appeared before his eyes – a dark-haired , dark-eyed young boy, dressed in shorts and a jacket too big for him, a yellow star on its left breast. He was standing alone and terrified on a street corner, watching through the thin autumn rain as a truck took his parents away, knowing that he must not run to them or call out. Knowing that he would never see them again. Knowing that he was alone.

Hawkeye wiped his eyes furiously. "Get a grip," he muttered. "Get a grip, damn it!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Jerry – Chapter Three**

The evening shift in post-op was quiet, but it was not an easy one. As he came on duty, Hawkeye shared a joke with Thompson, the duty nurse, and then listened to BJ's updates on the various patients' conditions as they went round together. He made a comment to BJ about being able to put his foot up and BJ laughed as he left, and then things settled down to the normal routine. Almost.

He sat at the desk and tried to concentrate on the pile of paperwork, but his gaze kept drifting to Sam and Jerry's beds at the far end of the ward. The two of them talked a lot, he noticed, and laughed a lot too. A couple of times when Thompson went over to check on something, she came away smiling and shaking her head at a comment one of them had made. "He's fun to be with….one of the most popular men I know," Hawkeye remembered Sam saying earlier.

He made the rounds at the prescribed intervals, and as usual he got the feeling that most of the wounded felt a little more relaxed and comfortable after he had sat with them for a while, reassuring them and answering any questions, usually with a bad pun thrown in somewhere.

But with Jerry it was different. Hawkeye tried his best to behave as he would with any of the others, but any joke that came to his mind seemed forced or inappropriate. In the end their conversation was restricted to awkward exchanges on a strictly professional level, with none of the easy spontaneity he shared with the other men.

Back at his desk, Hawkeye felt Jerry's gaze on him several times, and once their eyes met across the ward, only for both to look away quickly. _Old eyes in a young face_, thought Hawkeye. _Or am I just seeing that because of what I know? _And again he heard Sam's voice from earlier: "He'd hate it if people thought they had to be careful what they say around him.….Some of them might even avoid him altogether."

After what seemed like forever, his replacement arrived and Hawkeye was able to leave. But as he passed Sam's bed, the big man called to him.

"Hey, Doc. Looks like that ankle's a bit easier now."

Hawkeye glanced across at Jerry, who was sleeping soundly. He perched on the edge of Sam's bed and stretched out his legs.

"It's nothing really," he said. "Just a sprain. My personal physician assures me that rest is the best cure. BJ – Doctor Hunnicutt – has even promised me breakfast in bed. I've seen plenty of people take to their beds after sampling the wonders of the mess tent, but it'll be a novel experience to be horizontal _before_ eating. " He paused. "Sam, I hope I didn't cause trouble between you and Jerry earlier."

"What? Oh no, we're fine. It's not a problem. At least not for us."

He looked at Hawkeye shrewdly, but Hawkeye chose to ignore the opening and after a moment Sam continued. "Hey, you know what we've been talking about? Jerry's gonna come back to my place. My wife and kids know that he doesn't have family of his own, and they've kind of adopted him. They'd love to meet him." He smiled that crooked smile. "The kids have already written a few letters to their Uncle Jerry."

"You told your _kids_?" said Hawkeye, appalled.

Sam's smile faded. "What do you think I am, some kind of idiot? Of course I didn't tell them everything. All they know is that Jerry's on his own. Children are surprisingly adaptable, Doc. They ask a very few, very blunt questions and then they accept you as you are. It's a pity more grown-ups can't be like that."

Hawkeye read the accusation in the man's eyes.

"I have to go," he said standing up. "And you need to get some sleep."

Sam caught his arm. "Doc, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have told you about Jerry. You're really having a hard time getting your head round this, aren't you?"

"Yeah," said Hawkeye wearily. "Yeah, I really am."

He didn't sleep well.

-----------------------------------------

"Your breakfast, Sire," announced BJ, presenting the tray with a flourish.

Hawkeye propped himself up in his cot. His right foot was raised on a folded pillow and although the rest of him felt like death, the throbbing in his ankle seemed to have receded. He was also surprised to find that, after a difficult night, he felt calmer in himself. _I think I'm okay, _he thought_. I think I'm getting my head round this, as Sam would say._

He took the tray from BJ. "Thank you, Oh Faithful Retainer." He smiled over at Charles. "He's been with the family for years, you know. We wouldn't be without him for the world."

Charles snorted. "Thank you Hunnicutt," Hawkeye said airily, waving a hand towards BJ. "I shall ring if I require your further services."

"I live to serve, O Master," replied BJ with a courtly bow.

Hawkeye peered more closely at the contents of his tray. "Hey, was Igor still asleep when he gave you this? There's oatmeal in with this bacon stuff!"

BJ glanced back over. "That's scrambled egg," he said.

"Oh, silly me," said Hawkeye. "I was going on little clues like texture, colour and smell. I should have known better." He took a forkful and made what BJ called his Hawkeye Chewing a Furball face. "Nope, tastes like oatmeal too." He tried something else. "Oh, wow – what's he done to these beans?"

"You're not going to make that tired joke about has-beans are you?" pleaded Charles from across the tent.

Hawkeye swallowed loudly, grimacing. "No, I'm serious. I couldn't eat this if it was my last meal in this life….." he stopped short, staring at nothing for a moment, then he put the tray down beside his cot. "Never mind," he said quietly.

But BJ had picked up on the abrupt change of mood. "What's up?" he asked.

"He's suddenly overcome with remorse at depriving me of Mozart's finest piece of work," said Charles.

Hawkeye's ferocious response left both men open-mouthed. "For God's sake, Charles, will you shut up about your damn record! I said I'd get you another one! There are a lot more valuable things in this world that can't be replaced so easily!"

Infuriating as he was, Charles could also be unexpectedly decent, and his immediate reaction was concern rather than anger.

"Pierce, I……."

"I'm going for a walk," said Hawkeye abruptly, grabbing his robe and boots and lurching towards the door. Now he was putting weight on it, he found that his ankle had stiffened during the night and it hurt like hell. _It's just a sprain_, he thought furiously. _It's nothing_.

He heard BJ's worried voice saying "Aren't you meant to be resting?" and ignored it, but BJ wasn't about to let it drop and he followed his friend outside.

"Hawk, what is it?"

Hawkeye gently removed BJ's restraining hand from his arm. "Beej, I'm sorry," he said. "I've got some stuff I need to work out – just give me some space, okay?"

"Sure," said BJ, nodding. But his troubled gaze followed Hawkeye until he was out of sight amongst the tents and huts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Jerry – Chapter Four**

Father Mulcahy had taken two steps outside his tent when he heard a familiar voice.

"Father, do you have a minute?"

Turning, he started to say "Well I was just on my way to….." Then he saw the dishevelled appearance of the man approaching him. Hiding his surprise through years of practice, Mulcahy smiled warmly. "Yes, of course. Come in, Hawkeye."

Hawkeye nearly stumbled on his way over the threshold and the priest eyed him with growing concern. The man was clearly suffering in both body and spirit.

"What's troubling you, Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye shifted awkwardly in his chair. "Father, I don't mean to insult you, but I'm breaking a confidence by coming to you, and I need to know this won't go any further."

The wearing of the stole, the sanctity of the confessional – sometimes none of these were necessary. "You have my word," said Father Mulcahy quietly. He got up, went over to the small table and poured two glasses of water, giving Hawkeye time to collect his thoughts. Hawkeye took one of the glasses with a nod of thanks.

"I don't know if you noticed two of the wounded who came in yesterday," he began. "A sergeant with a shoulder wound and a younger kid with bellyful of shrapnel."

Mulcahy nodded. "I remember." He didn't say that his attention had been drawn by the sound of Hawkeye bellowing at one of the soldiers.

"Well," continued Hawkeye, "I learned a few things about those two yesterday……."

Hawkeye talked and Mulcahy let him talk, occasionally nodding but not interrupting. He noticed how the other man looked at the floor as he spoke, occasionally glancing round the tent but rarely straight at Mulcahy. And he noticed how both of Hawkeye's hands gripped the glass of water as he sat low in his chair, and how he spoke in a flat voice very different from his normal animated conversation.

Completing his story Hawkeye looked up, his eyes miserable and his face exhausted. He made a noise that was not quite a laugh and almost a sob.

"I'm a real mess, aren't I? And I don't just mean the unshaven, half-dressed, limping sight for sore eyes you see before you. One minute I think I'm okay and the next I'm shouting at people for no reason. Maybe I should put in a call to Sidney Freedman."

Mulcahy sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "We've all heard the appalling stories and seen the newsreels, but sometimes it's only when tragedy is given a face and a name that it really hits you." He paused. "Why do you think you've been so affected by this?"

Hawkeye stared at him. "Father, excuse me, but have you heard anything I've just said? We're not talking about casualties of war here, we're talking about coldblooded murder on an almost industrial scale! You should be asking how anyone can _not_ be affected!"

_That's better_, thought Mulcahy. _Get angry._

Hawkeye continued. "We think we've seen everything here, but that kid's been to hell and back. And Sam Clark was one of the first troops into Auschwitz, for Christ's…. sorry, Father."

"My son," said Mulcahly gently, "If Sergeant Clark was helping those poor souls at Auschwitz then I know he was there for Christ's sake, whatever form a person's belief in Him may take. But right now my concern is for you. You seem very troubled."

"I feel like my brain's tied in knots," said Hawkeye rubbing his forehead as if to untangle his thoughts. "I feel angry, I feel confused, I feel sadder than I can say. And I feel ashamed. Not just ashamed like any sane person when he realises what his fellow man is capable of, but ashamed that in my mind, I've turned Jerry into the victim he's trying so hard not to be. Father, I've had to tell people they may never see again, or that they've lost a limb, but I'm walking on eggshells around Jerry because this thing's just too huge for me. He handles himself with dignity and maturity, while I'm falling apart just hearing about it."

Father Mulcahy searched for the right words to say what he knew had to be said. He was about to put a treasured friendship at risk.

"Hawkeye," he said finally. "You have more compassion in you than anyone I know. I've seen you take up the cause of the underdog many times, and to fight injustices with a tenaciousness I can only admire. But - you also have a somewhat unhealthy tendency to burden yourself with the problems of other people."

"Is sympathy the eighth deadly sin now?" snapped Hawkeye, and Mulcahy knew he had hit a nerve. Hawkeye would never talk to him that way normally.

"Sympathy, no," he said, determined not to back down. "But it's more than that, I think. There's something slightly arrogant about the ease with which you adopt the role of the noble martyr. To put it bluntly, who asked you to take the weight of the world onto your shoulders? It's not helping Jerry, it's confusing the people who care about you, and it's certainly not doing you any good."

Hawkeye was getting truly angry now. "You think I'm arrogant? You think maybe I'm enjoying this? That I'm trying to earn some kind of cosmic Purple Heart for -- for pain by proxy?" He stood up abruptly, his eyes flashing. "To hell with this. I came here for looking for some good advice from someone I thought would understand – I don't have to listen to this."

"Maybe not, but I think you need to hear it anyway." Mulcahy's insides were churning. He hated conflict, but he stubbornly refused to be intimidated. "Hawkeye, be indignant, be outraged, howl at the moon if it helps. But you can't change what happened to Jerry, or any of the others, simply by hurting for them. I know of only one man qualified to suffer on behalf of others, and if I may say so, you come up somewhat short in comparison with Him."

It was said so mildly, so gently, that for a second Hawkeye wasn't sure if he'd heard properly. There was a long, frozen moment during which Mulcahy held his gaze steadily, and in the end it was Hawkeye who looked away first.

"Well, you certainly know how to give a guy something to think about," he said expressionlessly.

For a moment Mulcahy thought he might have gone too far. _Was that below the belt?_ he thought.

"You mean I should take off the hair shirt, pull myself together and stop moping about," Hawkeye went on.

"Well yes – I suppose I do," answered the priest defiantly.

Hawkeye shook his head slowly and to Mulcahy's relief he gave a soft chuckle. "My God, you're a brave man, Father."

"Hawkeye, you don't need to talk to Sidney Freedman," said Mulcahy earnestly. "You need to talk to Jerry Hoffman. He's lived with this a lot longer than you have, and he's had time to come to terms with things in his own way. Talk to the man. And I mean the man, not the boy you still see in him."

"I'll talk to Jerry," said Hawkeye. "Later, maybe. If it's okay with you, I'll just crawl into a dark corner and nurse my wounded pride for a while."

But there was none of the earlier bitterness in his voice, and Mulcahy was relieved to detect the first faint signs of humour returning.

"If I may make one more suggestion?" said the priest, and Hawkeye eyed him with apprehension.

"Be gentle, Father, or my ego might just throw up its hands and run screaming into the hills, never to be seen again."

"I was only going to say," said Mulcahy a little defensively, "That you should have a shower, get dressed and eat something before you go over to post-op. I'm sure those men have enough nightmares without you staggering in looking like a scarecrow that lost a fight with a thresher."

Hawkeye smiled, and this time it was a genuine if weary Hawkeye Pierce smile. "A couple of rounds with the priest is about as much as I can handle." Turning to leave, he rested a hand on Mulcahy's shoulder. "Thank you," he said. "I don't think I could have taken that from anyone else but you're right, maybe I needed to hear it. You're a good and honest friend, Father, and you never fail to surprise me."

Mulcahy's face lit up with the familiar boyish grin. "I say that to my boss most days."


	5. Chapter 5

**Jerry - Chapter Five**

Hawkeye took Father Mulcahy's advice and dawdled over a late breakfast in the mess tent, using the time to do a fair bit of soul searching over some strong coffee. After a while he realised that people were noting his frown and distant expression, and finding somewhere else to sit. The camp grapevine had clearly done its job and everyone had got the message that Hawkeye was in one of his black moods. _I've been giving off misery signals like gasoline fumes, _he thought,_ just waiting for someone to provide a spark. Father Mulcahy's right – I need to get my act together._

It was a thoughtful but revitalised Hawkeye Pierce who approached post-op a couple of hours later. 'Smart' would have been an exaggeration, but at least he had showered, dressed and donned the white coat which always added a touch of competent authority to his lean frame. As he walked across the compound, he came across Sam Clark who was still dressed in his pyjamas, robe and slippers and accompanied by a nurse. Sam waved and hailed him.

"Morning, Doc! Losing that limp, I see."

"Morning, Sam. I'll be lindying like a lunatic again by the end of the week. Did they let you out for good behaviour?"

"Just taking the air," smiled Sam. "Doctor Hunnicutt said it would be okay for a little while, and I wanted to give Jerry and your padre a little privacy."

Hawkeye frowned. "Father Mulcahy's in there? I thought you said Jerry wouldn't want to see a priest?"

"No, I said he didn't have his faith any more. I think they're talking about other things."

A little confused and, he had to admit to himself, more than a little nervous, Hawkeye pushed open the door. Father Mulcahy was sitting on the edge of Sam's empty bed, chatting to Jerry. They both looked up as Hawkeye approached.

"Ah, Hawkeye, good morning!" said Mulcahy. "I was just telling Private Hoffman here about the local orphanage."

"Yes," said Jerry. "I told one of the nurses that when I leave the army, I was thinking of going to work in the orphanage where I lived in New York. She suggested I should talk to Father Mulcahy about the work he does with the children here." His accent was barely noticeable, but he chose his words carefully, occasionally hesitating while he searched for the right one.

Mulcahy smiled at him. "And I think you'd be very good at it too, Jerry. You certainly seem to have a gift when it comes to getting along with people – everyone here has commented on it."

"Not everyone," said Jerry warily, as Hawkeye came over to sit beside the padre.

"Oh, you mustn't mind Hawkeye," said Mulcahy. "He's just, er, very shy with strangers at first." Hawkeye raised his eyebrows and blinked at this blatant lie, and Jerry looked taken aback. From what he had seen, this doctor was anything but shy with most people. Mulcahy ploughed on gamely. "Jerry was telling me he enjoys chess, Hawkeye."

Jerry jumped at the opening. "Yes, that's right. Perhaps you and I could play, Doctor Pierce. Unless you, Father….."

"Oh no, not me." Mulchay shook his head. "I barely know one end of a bishop from the other."

Hawkeye knew what Mulcahy was trying to do. He looked him straight in the eye and said, "You know, anyone but a priest could get into trouble coming out with something like that."

Mulchay threw back his head and laughed, and a second later all three of them were laughing. Jerry clutched at his stomach. "Ow! Please don't make me laugh – my stitches will burst!"

"Hey, those are my stitches, and I can guarantee they won't come out until they have my permission," said Hawkeye. "My needlework is famous throughout Korea. Anyway, if I come across a tricky case, I just use those really big, chunky knots they taught us back in the scouts." He grinned, twiddling his fingers to demonstrate. "They hold everything together like a dream."

"It's true what they say," said Mulcahy, standing up. "Laughter really is the best medicine. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have a few other visits to make."

"Thank you, Father," said Jerry.

"Yes, thank you, Father" said Hawkeye sincerely, and both priest and doctor knew what he meant.

The silence after Mulcahy had gone was a comfortable one, with both men much more at ease in each other's presence. After a moment, it was Jerry who spoke first.

"Doctor Pierce," he began. "I have been doing some thinking……"

Hawkeye interrupted gently. "No, let me go first. There's something I want to tell you about."

Jerry nodded, and Hawkeye took a deep breath before continuing. "My mom died when I was ten, Jerry. On my first day back at school afterwards, I walked up to the other kids standing outside the classroom and nobody said a word to me, not even my closest friends. Suddenly I was different from them, and they just didn't know what to do. We all stood there looking at each other, as if we were stuck on opposite sides of a canyon with no bridge, and I just wanted to run away and hide. And then one guy – his name was Kenny Hutton – he just came over and said 'Hiya, Ben'. I hardly knew him; we were just classmates for a while, but I've never forgotten how grateful I was to him that day. He was the first to reach out across this huge, awkward distance that had suddenly appeared between me and everyone else." He frowned. "I realised this morning that, when it came down to it, I acted towards you like my friends acted towards me. I was faced with tragedy on a scale I'd never had to deal with, and I couldn't reach out across that gap. I guess I'm no Kenny Hutton, and I know I'm no Sam Clark. And I'm sorry."

"So did you ever tell your classmates how you felt about losing your mother, or how you felt on that first day back?" asked Jerry.

Hawkeye shook his head. "I couldn't. I just couldn't share it. Pretty soon things were back to the way they'd always been with my friends, but none of them ever asked how I was doing, and I never brought it up. And there were some days when I really needed to talk, you know? I was angry and confused about what had happened to my mom, but I couldn't talk to my friends about it because I was….."

"Embarrassed?"

"Yeah," said Hawkeye slowly. "Yeah, I guess that's it. I was embarrassed, for them and for me. It was easier just not to mention it. Isn't that crazy?"

"No, it's not crazy," said Jerry. "It's a feeling I recognise very well, and it's why I don't like to talk about my past."

Hawkeye couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But there's no comparison between my mom dying and what happened to you! I said I was angry and confused, but you – Jerry, I just don't understand how you can carry something that huge around inside you and not wake up every morning screaming at the injustice of it."

"Let me tell you something of _my_ childhood, Doctor," Jerry said calmly. "My father was a very strict, very traditional man. I loved him very much. Before I went out, he always used to bend down and tidy the collar of my coat and straighten my cap." He smiled fondly, remembering. "His jacket always smelled of pipe tobacco. 'Jerzy,' he would say to me, very seriously 'remember you are representing this family in the world. Always be a good boy and don't let your mama and me down.' I could easily be a bitter man, Doctor Pierce. I could spend my life looking for pity and being angry at people who complain about small things – sometimes I could very easily do that. But have always told myself that I am the last representative of my family in the world, and I cannot let my mama and papa down."

Hawkeye looked down at the floor. Not for the first time in the last few hours, he didn't know what to say.

"You are a good man, Doctor," Jerry went on, "and I have made you uncomfortable, and for that I am sorry. But you have also made me think, and I think maybe it's time that other good men were made uncomfortable. There are always two roads to choose from, and perhaps I have been taking the easy road, hiding from things for too long. When I get back to the States I plan to contact others who have lost people as I have. We can help each other, and perhaps we can educate people, especially children, I think. And if people are made uncomfortable or embarrassed, then so be it. What happened in Europe cannot be forgotten or denied, Doctor Pierce, because if the memory is allowed to fade then we are halfway to allowing it to happen again. Father Mulcahy says I am good with people. Maybe I can help in a small way just by making people listen."

"That's a huge mission to set yourself," said Hawkeye after a long moment. "And it won't always be easy. There will be people who criticise what you're doing and say let bygones be bygones." He grinned suddenly. "But I have a feeling you won't let that stop you, and I can't think of a better ambassador, or a better educator."

They talked about other things for a while after that, and later that evening Hawkeye brought the chessboard over from the Swamp. Jerry won every game.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later, the medical team was supervising the movement of some of the wounded to the 121st Evac Hospital, on the first stage of their journey home. Hawkeye shook hands with Sam Clark and helped him up into the ambulance, then he walked beside Jerry's stretcher as it was carried out of post-op.

"I always thought I'd remember the face of everyone who comes through here," he said. "But the sad truth is most of them just become another wounded kid in the endless procession of wounded kids. But now and then I come across a patient I know I'll never forget." He held out his hand. "Good luck, Jerry. It's been an honour and an education."

"For me too, Doctor Pierce." Jerry gripped his hand and shook it.

"Do you have a girl back in the States, Jerry?" Hawkeye asked suddenly.

Jerry smiled, surprised and a little self-conscious. "No. I am a bit shy about my accent, I think."

"Well, I bet there are girls just lining up to meet a great guy like you," said Hawkeye, "You hurry up and find one so you can keep that family line going. Make your mama and papa proud."

The ambulance pulled out of the compound, and BJ caught up with Hawkeye as he walked away.

"You want to grab some coffee, Hawk?" he said. "We don't seem to have talked much in the last few days."

"Yeah, sure." He put his arm around BJ's shoulders as they walked together towards the mess tent, and Hawkeye said, "I've been thinking about the tale of the Ancient Mariner."

BJ was used to his friend's unpredictable train of thought, but this one looked like a doozy. "The guy with the albatross around his neck?" he said. "Water, water everywhere and all that? What's put that into your head?"

"Well," said Hawkeye. "He had a tale to tell. He was compelled to tell it to as many people as possible, in fact, so others could learn from it. And everyone who heard him went away 'a sadder and a wiser man'. I think Jerry Hoffman reminds me of him."

**The End**


End file.
